Random Bits of Silliness
by Acepilot6
Summary: A collection of showage vingettes about the lighter side of life with friends. Pretty much as the title says. Please review!


**Random Bits of Silliness  
**Acepilot

AN – This was written in an altogether far-too irresponsible mood as I was sitting outside this afternoon in the beautiful sunshine. A series of completely unrelated vignettes which just kind of seemed to work together, on the basis that they're all just…well, ridiculous. Thus the title, Random Bits of Silliness. Please review – I love it when people review.

Disclaimer – the characters in this fic are property of KlaskyCsupo Animation. No profit was made from this fic.

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"I'm telling you it can't be done," Lil told him, a look on her face suggesting that she couldn't believe his complete and utter stupidity.

"And I'm saying it can," Phil insisted. "Just because _you _can't do it – "

"I've never been stupid enough to think to _try_!" Lil defended herself. "This is one of the stupidest ideas I've ever heard."

"I'm telling you it's foolproof," he said.

"And I'm telling you it's fool_ish_," she reiterated. "Phil, you have to accept it – like most ideas you come up with, this one is beyond stupid. In fact, it's beyond moronic! This is just plain…plain…well, I can't think of a word bad enough to describe it."

"Who's stupid now?"

"Oh, Phil, please, just get over it."

"I'll _prove_ it to you," he declared. "I'll do it."

"You'll _do _it?" she exclaimed. "_You'll _do it! Well, actually, you'll try. Because, like I said – repeatedly – it _can't be done_!"

"You'll be laughing out the other side of your face when I prove to you it can," Phil declared, rather cockily.

"Yeah, I'm sure," she muttered. "Look, Phil, I'm not going to let you do this."

"Ah. You're so afraid to be proved wrong that you'll sabotage my efforts!" he crowed.

"No, I'm so afraid you'll get hurt – like normal – and no matter how stupid you are, you're still my little brother and I'm morally obligated to make sure that doesn't happen to you."

"Oh, and there you are with the little brother rubbish again," he moaned. "Come on, Lil, face it. You're just jealous that I've found a way to do it. I'll even _bet _you it works."

"Phil, I'm telli -…bet, you say?"

* * *

The door to Tommy Pickles' bedroom burst open. But that was okay, the door was used to it. 

"I have it!" Dil exclaimed to the room.

Tommy didn't even look up from the movie he was editing on his laptop. "You do, huh?"

"Yep," Dil said, turning two very neat somersaults and landing on Tommy's bed.

Tommy sighed and spun his . "Now, I know I'm going to regret asking this, but…what exactly is it that you have?"

"The solution!" Dil announced.

Tommy bit his lower lip. This was almost assuredly going to be a very, very long afternoon.

"The solution to…" he prompted.

"The problem," Dil dropped his voice and whispered conspiratorially.

It was at this point that Tommy became somewhat torn. He was still in two minds over his brother.

One part of him felt that this whole thing – from the aliens down to the nutty inventions and all sorts of different ideas that seemed to flow through the younger Pickles' head – was, in fact, genuine. That Dil really _did_ believe in life on other planets, really did believe the Earth was shaped like a triangle, and really did believe that life was one big – if somewhat weird – adventure.

But it was at times like this that there was another suggestion his brain had to make about his brother. The suggestion that Dil just did this because he enjoyed making life difficult for him, taking the piss out of him, or possible a combination of all the aforementioned factors.

"You're going to have to be more specific," Tommy told his little brother after what seemed like a reasonable amount of time had passed.

"How can I possibly be more specific, when I'm talking about _the problem_!" Dil questioned him. "The problem is…everywhere."

Tommy had to kill an urge to look over his shoulder.

"The problem is in all facets of life, in all parts of the world. In every country, they do battle with…the problem. And no-one, no-one in the world, has yet to come up with the solution to the problem. Not until now, when I just did, anyway."

Tommy took some time to digest that.

"It's not forty-two, is it?" he asked, cautiously.

Dil looked at him sarcastically.

Some people think that sarcasm has to be vocalised. It doesn't. One sarcastic look can make you feel more sheepish than putting on a big woolly coat and walking around saying, "Baa". Try it and see how many odd looks you get.

"Alright, Dil," Tommy snapped out of it. "You are yet to adequately explain what exactly the problem is, and you have similarly failed to tell me what your almighty solution is. Are you going to do either?"

"I told you, T, the problem is the world as we know it! It is everywhere, in all facets – "

"Right, caught that the first time. Now, your solution?"

Dil took a deep breath. "Are you sure you're ready to know?" he asked. "It's pretty heavy stuff."

Tommy looked from side-to-side, but was at a loss as to explain why, exactly. "I'm sure I'll cope."

Dil nodded sagely. "Alright. The solution is…" he leaned in close, and Tommy felt the need to do the same, "chocolate ice-cream and polly waffles."

Tommy blinked. Then blinked again. He tried it a few more times before deciding that it wasn't helping the situation.

"Dil," he said, very simply and plainly and with no emotion whatsoever.

"See ya," Dil said, jumping up off Tommy's bed and dancing out the door.

Tommy stared after his retreating brother for a while, and wondered how he managed to turn out so normal.

* * *

"Kimi, I don't think this is a very good idea," Chuckie reiterated for what must have been the fifth time since they started. 

"It's a piece of cake, Chuckie," Kimi said. "After all, if Dil can do it, then so can we. And besides, you did it on a _real _mountain. This is just fake rock-climbing equipment."

"Yeah, but the mountain was made of rocks. I don't trust all this plastic."

His sister turned to face him. "You know, I think that's the most absurdly stupid logic I've ever heard in my life."

"I just don't want to, okay!" Chuckie insisted. "I keep feeling like I'm forgetting something."

"Like what?" Kimi asked.

Chuckie checked himself over, and discovered, to his surprise, that nothing was out of place. "Oh. Nothing, I guess."

"Good," Kimi said. "Now, come on lets –"

Which was when Chuckie toppled backwards and fell –

Six inches.

"A rope," Chuckie said. "We forgot ropes."

Kimi had the decency to look abashed. "Good thing we started on the low wall, huh?"

* * *

Tommy Pickles felt a tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. "What, Dil?" 

"T, turn around, and tell me if I'm seeing things."

While Tommy wouldn't have been at all surprised if his little brother was, in fact, seeing things that simply weren't there, the new, never-before heard tone of disbelief in his voice inspired Tommy to give the younger Pickles a chance.

He turned.

His jaw dropped. His eyeballs did somersaults and he had an overwhelming urge to rub at them.

Phil DeVille strode determinedly to stand next to Dil and stared down both Pickles brothers a little strongly.

"What? Is there something odd about my appearance?" he asked.

The tone in Phil's voice implied that he knew damn well there was, but anyone else who shared that opinion would regret it, very, very quickly.

Tommy shook his head and managed to close his mouth. Dil just shrugged. Lil showed up moments later barely repressing giggles and looking _very_ pleased with herself.

And all this would have been fine, if not for the sudden arrival of the Finsters, moments later.

And Chuckie's opening remark of the morning being:

"Phil, why is your hair pink?"

* * *

The door to Tommy's room burst open. He was beginning to think about just not closing to save the wear and tear on the hinges. 

"I have it!" Dil exclaimed to the room.

Tommy could have looked up from the book he was reading. But he didn't. "Have what, exactly?"

"The invention to end all inventions!" Dil announced. "The big one. It. The thing that will make me famous!"

"I thought you don't like selling your inventions," Tommy pointed out.

"I didn't say rich, I just said famous," Dil reminded him.

This should be good, Tommy decided. "Alright, what's the invention."

Dil held out a hand which contained something that vaguely resembled an elongated remote control, except with no writing on it.

Tommy took a deep breath and braced himself for the worst. "Alright, what's that?"

Dil took a deep breath and braced himself for an explosive speech to end all speeches. He didn't give them often, but he liked to have fun when he did. "This is the world's first ever, custom made, all-in-one handy-dandy super-duper dance calculator."

Tommy raised an eyebrow and tried to think that through. "I'm sorry, it's a what?"

Dil grinned. "It's a dance calculator. You simply point this at a person, press a button, and –"

He pointed it at himself and pressed a button. The elongated remote control said, "Ballroom/club."

Tommy was rather impressed. He'd never heard anything speak with punctuation marks before.

Dil turned it around, pointing it at Tommy, and he pressed another button.

The remote hummed for almost a full minute, and a small green light at its base blinked on and off a few times. If it was possible, the remote looked confused.

Finally, the green light turned blue, and it said, "The Hokey Pokey."

Tommy's mouth opened in something between shock, rage, and puzzlement. "The hokey pokey? I rate _the hokey pokey_!"

Dil pressed another button and the remote started playing the hokey pokey, it's sound resembling a very cheap and stereotypical synthesizer. A few seconds later it began singing the lyrics in a flat, computerised voice.

Dil flashed him a grin, put his left foot in, put his left foot out the door, shook it all about, he did the hokey pokey, he turned about, and ran like the house was on fire.

In the time it took him to do that, Tommy had just managed to get off his chair and start chasing him down. "Wait 'til I get my hands on you…hokey pokey my –"

* * *

"You know what there should be?" Phil said to Chuckie, throwing the red-head the ball, which he just managed to catch. 

"No, what?" Chuckie asked, throwing it back.

"There should be a superhero that is, like, just a teenager. A regular, run of the mill pre-teenager."

Chuckie caught the ball a little high. "What makes him a superhero, then?"

"Well…he could do something heroic."

"Like…"

Phil looked ponderous, which was not a typical look for Phil. Chuckie decided he looked like Spike did when he'd eaten something that didn't agree with him. "He could burn down brussel sprout plantations."

Chuckie raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Well, what other heroic act would speak more to his people, than the destruction of their worst enemies?"

"Uh-huh."

"And, he could change all the clocks."

"I'm sorry?" Chuckie asked, feeling even more lost than usual all of a sudden. "Change all the clocks?"

"Yeah. So all the pre-teens wouldn't have to get sent to bed so early."

"What would you call him?" Chuckie asked.

"I don't know…" Phil seemed to muse, if that was a word you could truly associate with Phil. "How about…The Pre-Teen Man?"

"Catchy. What if it's a girl?"

"Yeuch. No, no good. Well, maybe…Supertween – saviour with an iron lunchbox."

"Phil?"

"Yes?"

"Exactly how much time do you dedicate to thinking about this sort of thing?"

* * *

Tommy Pickles couldn't sleep. 

It was three a.m. and he couldn't sleep. And there's nothing worse than not sleeping at three in the morning. Anything up until two is okay. Two is early enough to still be 'up late'. But three is no good. Three is over the other side of night, and once you cross that threshold, sleep seems to decide to give up on you, leaving you a tired but awake young person with far too much time to think about the rather depressing state of the world.

Deciding that a glass of water might help, Tommy clambered down the stairs, trying to be as silent as possible so as not to wake his family. After getting his drink, he decided that maybe a post-midnight snack wouldn't go astray, either.

As he was pulling some Shapes out of the cupboard, he noticed, tucked behind them, a large stack of Polly Waffles.

He raised an eyebrow, before withdrawing one and – very carefully, as if it was a potential explosive – opening it.

It didn't blow up.

He observed the chocolate bar from every convenient – and sometimes inconvenient – angle. He looked at every which way, before cutting it up into pieces and looking at it from the inside.

Chocolate. Wafer. Marshmallow. In that order.

His eyes, against his will, slid over to the freezer.

His feet, unbidden, forced him to rise and get a bowl.

He observed the chocolate ice-cream. When it didn't try to glue itself to his face, he put a large portion in the bowl, and dropped the Polly Waffle pieces in with it.

Then he picked up a spoon, took a large scoop, and ate it.

Hmm.

Maybe Dil wasn't always joking after all.

"Told you," a voice whispered from back in the kitchen, and Tommy Pickles – big, brave Tommy Pickles – jumped roughly his own height in the air.

* * *

Please review. 


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